The Devil's In The Details
by quokka
Summary: Tiva tag to 10x08 (Gone) - Tony drops off Ziva, who's perhaps had one mojito too many (repost after uploading difficulties yesterday)


"For someone his age, Shmeil sure knows how to hold his liquor." Tony glanced in the direction of the passenger seat and added, "I've got a feeling he could drink even you under the table."

"You are just annoyed because you chose to be the designated driver. I told you we were going to take a cab anyway, you could have just as easily shared," Ziva said.

"And spend the rest of my life wondering whether everything I learned about you this evening was true or just a figment of my drunken imagination? I think not." He beamed a triumphant smile at her. One that would've riled her up, thinking about possible future blackmail he was sure to hold over her. She knew that last mojito had been a mistake the second she ordered it and heard Tony snicker.

"You know, when he told me he met my dad I was kinda worried, but now I'm thinking if anyone could outdo my dad, it would be Shmeil, the man of steel. Are you sure he's just a historian?"

Ziva scrunched her nose a bit and seemed to give the question more thought then it really warranted before saying she was pretty sure. Adding an "he's a harmless old man, Tony" when they pulled up in front of her building.

She leaned a little to the left, damn mojito, to unbuckle her seatbelt and thank Tony for dropping her off, when she noticed he was already getting out of the car. In fact, by the time she had freed herself from the seatbelt, he was opening the door for her and looking at her expectantly.

Getting out of the car and stepping to the side so he could close the door, she looked at him a little confused and said, "thank you, Tony, for dropping Shmeil off at his hotel and driving me home. I will see you tomorrow morning. At 7." Ziva's car was still at the Navy Yard, where they'd left it after Tony had appointed himself designated driver.

She started crossing the street to her building when she noticed he was following alongside her. A raised eyebrow from her prompted him to explain, "I may be the class clown, but my mother raised me a gentlemen."

"You are not the class clown," she said as they climbed the stairs to her first floor apartment. He was a little distracted by the view of her in front of him, thinking she really needed to show off those legs more often, so his comeback was a little slower than usual.

"Does that mean you don't love me anymore," he asked in whiny voice.

She stopped so abruptly he almost bumped into her, not that he would've complained, and looked over her shoulder with another confused look. He smiled a little when he saw her face lit up remembering the conversation in the observation room.

"That... No. I mean, yes. No, I mean, ... you're not really the class clown anymore." Tony couldn't remember Ziva ever having so much difficulty expressing herself. Drunk or sober. And was she blushing? Or was the alcohol to blame for that as well?

She continued up the stairs quickly, and steadily, despite the alcohol, tight dress and high heels. So he followed, like a real gentleman. Although, he vaguely remembered his mother once telling him something about it not being polite to ascend the stairs behind a woman or something to that effect. He was too distracted by Ziva's legs and ass to give that particular memory much thought, though. He figured he would contemplate it later when he got home. That's assuming he wasn't still contemplating his current view by then.

Opening her door and stepping inside she turned to him, "I had a good time tonight, Tony."

He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, relishing the way she was looking at him. They had become a lot more open with each other, but she rarely looked at him quite like this.

"The feeling's mutual, Ziva David," he said in a soft voice. She opened her mouth a little and couldn't help but look at his lips. His voice, and particularly that tone, always had more of an effect on her then she would ever admit.

"I think I learned more about you in the past 6 hours then I have in the past 6 years," he grinned, thinking about all the details Shmeil, and even Ziva herself, had shared about her childhood and teenage years. He was particularly pleased to discover there had been some good times in her past, despite Eli's presence.

"If you say anything about what you heard tonight, I will rip out your tongue," she mock glowered at him.

"Yeah, you see, you've been threatening me with bodily harm for years, and I'm still very much intact." Before she had a chance to protest, he continued, "Now, if you'd told me that when we first met, I would've been terrified. And excited."

He smiled his million watt smile, anticipating a flirty comeback. Instead her brow furrowed and she sounded almost disappointed when she asked, "You no longer feel that way?"

Tony tilted his head to the side studying her face. This time _he_ had a confusing look on his face.

"Terrified and excited," she clarified.

He really didn't like the rejection he could see in her eyes, so he decided that being completely honest would be the best way to go.

"You terrify and excite me on a completely new level, Ziva," he said softly, giving her the small smile he reserved just for her.

He could see the wheels turning in her head and sure enough, he was rewarded with her own small smile as she tilted her head, her eyes never leaving his.

The desire to just lean in and kiss her was getting stronger by the second, but he hadn't been lying, he was still terrified. Terrified of making the wrong move at the wrong time. And she was drunk. So clearly, this was the wrong time. Wasn't it?

With no McGee to say something awkward, or Gibbs to head slap him, he decided that talking was probably the best way to break the tension before he did something he might regret. He could talk his way out of any situation, why would this be any different.

"Thanks for inviting me along. It's good to know you have friends like Shmeil."

"Shmeil is much more than just a friend, Tony."

He made a face and said, "I distinctly remember you saying you like older men, but I wasn't expecting this old!"

"What?"

The alcohol was clearly affecting her more than usual. Or was it something else? He couldn't contain the grin spreading on his face, though, as he saw her try to work out what he just implied.

The shock on her face when it finally dawned on her was quickly replaced by the narrowing of her eyes and a finger jabbing him in the ribs. So much for no bodily harm, that might actually leave a small bruise.

"I meant he is like family, like a … great uncle or … grandfather or something," she said with indignation, wildly gesticulating to make a point.

"Well, how am I supposed to know that," he answered feigning innocence. "Older men is kinda vague, Ziva. That could be anything from 4 weeks to 40 years older. You really need to be more specific. After all, the devil's in the details. We should probably clear this up right now, so there's no more confusion in the future."

Ziva could see he was starting to enjoy this much more then he should. Crossing her arms, she huffed and rolled her eyes.

"Is it between 1 year and 20 years older," he asked with glee.

Her eyes shot daggers his way, but the alcohol and late hour diminished their effectiveness greatly.

"20 and 30 years?"

The only reply he got was the clenching of her jaw.

"40? Please tell me it's not above 50 years older, Ziva," he said in mock disgust.

"You know I can go on like this for hours, Ziva. Just give me a ballpark age range and we'll call it a night."

The glare faltered minutely as she tried to understand the ballpark idiom, then her face relaxed into a sly smile, and she asked, "How old is George Clooney again?"

Clutching his chest dramatically he said, "Et tu, Ziva. Such shallowness. I expected more from you."

Chuckling at his antics for a couple of seconds, she looked him dead in the eye and said, "11 years older."

Wondering why her tone had gone from teasing to serious in a matter of seconds, he tilted his head and tried to read her eyes again.

"That's very specific, miss David."

"You wanted me to be specific," she answered, and a glint appeared in her eyes.

He looked her up and down slowly, not sure if she was getting at what he hoped she was getting at. Or if is she was even serious.

"That narrows your playing field quite a bit," he said, trying hard not to sound too serious. After all, they were still playing, right?

"I'm tired of playing the field."

There was nothing playful about her tone or the look she gave him. The tension he'd so desperately wanted to break mere minutes ago was back in full force. Actually, a lot more seemed to be riding on the conversation right now.

"So. Am I right to assume ... you have someone ... specific ... in mind?"

Did he really want to go there? Have such an important conversation, right now? After a long day at work. After all the jealous feelings he'd endured finding out Ziva was meeting a mystery friend she was deliberately keeping mysterious just to get under his skin. After way too many shots and mojitos on her behalf? Though, if he was honest, she seemed to have sobered up considerably the past minute.

"Yes," she said, and he could hear the trepidation in her voice. His lips parted slightly and he had a look of disbelief on his face.

She could feel her reflex to run from situations like this start to take hold of her as they continued to gaze at each other. This was escalating way too fast. Lust was one thing, but this... This would have to wait until she had a clear head. She broke the tension the only way she knew how.

Plastering an over the top seductive smile on her face and looking him up and down slowly, she drawled, "Someone very specific."

Her eyes told him everything she wasn't saying, though, _not now, but soon, definitely soon._

He pushed himself off the doorframe never breaking eye contact, all his defenses down, promising her without words, _very soon_.

"I'll pick you up at 7," he said softly, still feeling a little overwhelmed at the barrier they just crossed. They'd never come this close to flat out admitting there was something real between them. Something more than just physical attraction.

She nodded, put the palm of her right hand over his heart, leaned in closer and kissed the corner of his mouth.

"Sweet dreams, Tony," she said, a mischievous glint had returned to her eyes.

With his trademark smile in place, he looked her over one more time as she retreated into her apartment and closed the door.

"Yeah, I'm not getting any sleep tonight," he mumbled as he turned and headed for the exit.

* * *

AN: Well that was a pain to post... Anyway, seeing as there appear to be mixed opinions on their ages, I chose to go with an age difference of 11 years. Hope you enjoyed reading it (assuming it's actually readable this time around).


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